


Lyrium Ghost

by K4t3yK4t



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, PTSD - Fenris, Past Torture, Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K4t3yK4t/pseuds/K4t3yK4t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shades wander at the edges of his awareness, taunting him with softly spoken words marred by excruciating pain. He does not want to feel it again, and so he runs; a dark haired boy, whose body already scarred with work and battle and pain trembles at the blade that sears through his flesh like nothing he had ever known. Blinding white, and then all fades to nothing. He is nothing, he has always been nothing, and now... And now...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lyrium Ghost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoonyLupin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Superbia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5438885) by [fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness), [LoonyLupin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin). 



> Disclaimer: All DA2 characters belong to Bioware, despite my deep love for all of them. 
> 
> WARNING: If you have PTSD, abuse, or anxiety, or any other triggerable stressor I suggest skipping this fic. I may not be good enough a writer to warrant this, but I don't want any readers to get hurt, hence the warning. Please be safe and take care of yourselves, loves <3

_Shades wander at the edges of his awareness, taunting him with softly spoken words marred by excruciating pain. He does not want to feel it again, and so he runs; a dark haired boy, whose body already scarred with work and battle and pain trembles at the blade that sears through his flesh like nothing he had ever known. Blinding white, and then all fades to nothing. He is nothing, he has always been nothing, and now... And now..._

_The ghost of a touch on his brow, soft and familiar, and suddenly the pain does not seem as hard to endure._

“ _Leto, you must do this. Your sister and I will always love you...” The voice, he cannot place it, and the words are slipping through his fingers like so much sand on the beaches of Seheron. The litany of the Qun falls from his lips and he writhes, back arching as the knife blade digs beneath his ribs, straining toward his heart with its poisonous blue-white glow. He is nothing, he is not even here, though, if he is not here, why must it hurt so much..._

_A cry of surprise, of pain, and the thrill of power surging through his veins, singing with a crystalline voice._

“ _Stop! You do not want me dead!” He scoffs, his blade risen higher, her magic is pulling at him and he cannot bear it... “You have a sister!”_

“ _It really is you...” Sudden clarity, and the pain is but for a moment pushed back. He can see it, playing out in his mind, a pair of elfin children playing in a courtyard, a ball of wood, carved in his own careful hands, the flash of sunlight upon her copper hair.... “Leto... That's your name.” The name feels like home, but something is wrong, something is off, she is not looking at him, and the lyrium etched into his skin surges, reaching toward..._

_Danarius. The name is a bitter poison on his tongue, a hated bile spit out to the pavement lest it corrupt completely. His skin glows, the etchings crying out, straining toward the magic of their creator, and for a brief moment, he wants to as well. Danarius is the answer to all of his questions, he is the source of all his pain, and for the briefest, flickering moment, he wants to succumb... He simply wants to forget.... But rage floods him and washes the shroud away, and his mind is clear, his mind is his own, he is his own, and yet... Yet he cannot look at Danarius in the eye, cannot stand tall in his presence, not unless... Not unless..._

_The lyrium rebels, drawing his arm to his side, fighting him as it never has before to stay his hand, to protect its master, its creator. He snarls, and it snarls back, teeth bared and snapping like an angry, starved dog._

_When his hand pierces flesh and wraps around Danarius heart, the lyrium screams, he screams, their agony mixing with the blood trailing rivulets down his arm, and with a final squeeze, a gesture that feels as though he is trying to crush stone, the organ bursts in his grip and Danarius falls lifeless, and the lyrium rebels, exploding, shrieking, tearing at him..._

* * *

“Fenris...” His name... He has never heard his name spoken more sweetly, never heard one's tongue wrap around it as if to protect, rather than the sharp whip crack of a command... He struggles, his mind sluggish. Every muscle in his body is taunt, aching... “Fenris!” Urgency, now, and his instinct is to leap to attention, to heed the beckon of the call. Things grow darker behind his closed eyes, and belatedly he realises that it is because the room beyond them grows darker, a bluish-white hue dissipating back to black.

A hand on his shoulder, and his body sings. Not the lyrium, this time, but his blood; it quickens in his veins and urges him to rise, to respond, to ease the frantic grip and soothe the edges of panic in the voice of the one who has grown so dear to him...

“Wake up, love.” Love. He is loved. He hadn't known for the longest while what that meant, hadn't known that it existed, and yet... Yet he has found it here, found it in the most startling of places, a mage... The lyrium flickers, but the hand on his shoulder soothes its crackling fury, in a way that no other touch of magic ever has.

His eyes open, and he waits a breath, then two, for the world to sharpen into focus. His eyes meet worried blue, striking in their brilliance, seeming to shine from within. When those eyes register that he is alright, that he has returned, they relax, and soften, and then close as lips press to his brow.

The next time Fenris sleeps, he is calm. The shades still wander around the edges, but they will have a harder time whispering to him now.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to Loony Lupin's newest ficlet Superbia which you can see here: http://fanfoolishness.tumblr.com/post/135308781238/superbia because her super angst tends to fuel my own when it comes to Fenris' trauma. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


End file.
